Leap
by Emberrion
Summary: Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel AU. Romantic sub-plot.
1. 1

**LEAP**

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Summary: _Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel._

* * *

 **1.**

 _ **2001**_

 _Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably in her_ small heeled black shoes and knee-length pencil skirt. She clutched an armful of manila-enveloped files to her chest, as if to ward off some impending danger, fingers gripping so tightly her knuckles were almost white. Her hair was falling free of its sleeked back bun, and her whiskey eyes were alight with trepidation and excitement.

"I wish the Wizengamot would hurry up already..." she murmured impatiently to the black-robe clad man beside her. He was an unremarkable man, with a shock of white hair and large, full-moon spectacles that reflected the light from the lit torches along the gold-veined black marble walls.

He shrugged simply. "We have all the time in the world, Miss Granger. Take a breath." He turned to face her, the glass of his spectacles gleaming white so she could not see the color of his eyes. "Do you have everything?"

She nodded, patting the files at her chest. "All the data and the -"

A woman bustled into view, her plum robes swirling around her as she rounded the corner, effectively cutting Hermione off. "Miss Granger. Mister Presa," she said by way of greeting, all business. "The Wizengamot will see you now. This way."

Hermione breathed deeply as she strode through the double doors that lead into the cavernous courtroom and felt a chill seep into her bones; she was not on trial for any misdeed, but the reminder of her last visit to this particular room sent her mind reeling back, and she could almost see the vile pink mass of robes that Umbridge had worn sitting at the podium before her. Except, of course, Umbridge had long been imprisoned for her crimes against muggleborns, and a man with a ready smile and deep age-lines were in her place.

Presa stopped before the slightly raised dais in the center of the room, and Hermione set her large collection of papers before her on the table provided. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and took a steadying breath. "Minister Kingsley, esteemed Wizengamot."

"Miss Granger, lovely to see you," Kingsley beamed, his dark eyes smiling. Beside him, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley - both clad in their Auror robes along with four other men and a woman - shifted in their seats. "We have all been brought here today to hear of a proposal your department has deemed of Remarkable Importance. Please, when you are ready." He gestured down at her.

She cleared her throat. "As you are aware, I work for the Department of Mystery alongside the Unspeakables," she began. "Three years ago, I was assigned to the Time Room, where we have studied the idea of multiple timelines and the effects of time travel on the Wizarding Community..."

For the better part of an hour, she explained what her department had been examining, presenting the data accumulated and findings with the ease of any well-versed employee. The gathered Wizengamot and others listened with a half an ear, only a handful truly interested in what she had to say to them. When Presa jabbed her in the rib-cage rather forcefully, earning him a sharp glare from the lecturing woman, she trailed off, allowing her eyes to scan the room.

"In our quest to unlock the mysteries of Time, we have stumbled upon a truly remarkable device: a time turner more powerful than any other. From what we gather, we can send an object back...millennia. To the dawn of time itself, if we so chose." Eyes became wary and hard as they refocused on Hermione's face, apprehension beginning to fill the room like an overwhelming perfume. "And so, Minister, Wizengamot...Harry, it is with your permission and blessing we ask to send one of our own to a set date in history."

Kingsley coughed, leaning forward. "And when is that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shot Presa a look of unease before squaring her shoulders and facing the gathered witches and wizards once more. "August 1981. The end of the first wizarding war."

Chaos erupted about the room, shouts and hisses echoing off the walls. Harry was gripping the banister with white knuckles, a look of consternation on his face. Ron merely looked down at her flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open like that of a fish, while the Aurors surrounding them jostled a bit and spoke in hushed whispers behind them. The female Auror shot her a look along the lines of disgust and awe, but Hermione refused to look away from Kingsley.

"We cannot allow it, Kingsley!" shouted one man.  
"The war has passed! We won! Isn't that enough?" spat another.  
"No good ever comes from meddling with time!"

Kingsley allowed the chaos to span several minutes before rapping his gavel for silence. When the noise had died down to a whisper, she peered down at the small witch before him with a scrutinous look. "And, pray tell Miss Granger, who are you wishing to send?"

"To what end?" added a woman with a tangle of auburn hair.

"Myself, Minister," Hermione answered back easily. Kingsley looked disapproving, but the curly haired witch raised her hands in a peaceful gesture. "I am the least experienced Unspeakable within my department, Kingsley, therefore the most expendable -"

"- this is a job for the wizened. Not a child scarcely out of her training brassiere!" someone scoffed.

"I beg to differ," Hermione cut in quietly. "If I am unsuccessful, then you still have several more than qualified wizards to continue the research into this particular brand of magic. Why waste an invaluable resource and possibly drain a fountain of endless knowledge, when you can send an untrained soldier in their stead?"

"You are hardly an untrained soldier, Miss Granger," Kingsley objection. "Nor are you cannon fodder."

"And what of the possibilities, Minister?" she continued, ignoring his protests. "I am one of the few who know the finer details of Voldemort's reign of terror, the timeline of his actions; his creations. His who's and what's and _how's_."

The wizard suddenly looked thrice his age, rubbing his temples in soothing gestures. "And what if you succeed?"

"Then I will have saved the lives of countless. I will have stopped the second war from happening."

Silence filled the room like a heavy cloak and Hermione scanned the crowd with a determined eye.

"If you were so meant to do this," someone intoned, "then shouldn't the war have never happened in the first place?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. "Time is a...finicky thing. There is, of course, the chance that I did, indeed go back in time and alter things to play out just as they have. That certainly makes sense. But," she murmured. "there is also the chance that we are simply a part of a timeline that has not delved into an alternative past, yet."

"And what happens to the world now if you do, indeed, go back?" queried a man with a long black beard. "What happens to _us_?"

She smiled. "There is no singular answer, sir. The popular idea among my colleagues and myself is that this timeline will simply stop, and I will jump into a time where things are wholly different. You will still exist, just not here; but _there_."

A few murmurs could be heard from around her. "I don't like the sound of just... _stopping_ ," she could hear someone grumble.

"We have the chance to change...everything. To save lives. To stop a war," Hermione practically shouted. "Mothers would have their children back. Sons would get their fathers. Families could be whole again." She trailed off, her eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "You won't even know the difference."

There was the sound of shaking heads and shifting fabric, and Hermione stared pleadingly at Kingsley.

"Hermione isn't called the 'smartest witch of her age' for nothing, Kings," Harry finally spoke. All eyes fell to him. "If anyone has a shot at this, it's her."

She gave him a small, appreciative smile before addressing the gathered Wizengamot for a final time. "We owe it to them. All of them."

With a heavy sigh, Kingsley drew back. "All those in favor of allowing Miss Granger this task, raise your hand."

At first, only Kingsley raised his hand, then Harry, then a sporadic hand or two came up from the center of the gathered mass, and more and more began to rise. Ron did not move for the longest time, still staring hard at her, and her heart sank until he, finally, caved and raised his hand high. Little over half of the gathered wizards had raised their hands in favor, and Hermione felt her skin prickle with excitement as she began to gather her papers.

"Miss Granger," Kingsley boomed. "Your request has henceforth been granted." He paused. "Make us proud."

The curly haired witch bundled all of her paperwork together, tapping them against the desktop before tucking them under her arm and striding, determined, from the chamber. Her mind reeled with information and plans; things to do, things to pack, people to say goodbye to...

"Hermione!" came a familiar voice, and she turned around just as Harry, with Ron in tow, came bounding up to her. Ron looked slightly out of breath, but she couldn't tell if it was because of his being winded from following after Harry, or from emotion.

She stared at them for a long second before throwing her arms around, first one best friend, then the other. "Isn't this exciting?" she cried.

Harry shuffled his feet against the black marble floor, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his Auror robes. "Ah, yes," he murmured, brows furrowed. "But, Hermione..."

"Are you insane?" Ron cried, startling his two friends and the two or three stragglers that had not left the Wizengamot directly. Hermione flinched at his unexpected outburst and had the sense to mutter a soft _muffliato_. "I mean, come on, Hermione! You're just going to, what? Pop into the past, and say, 'hey, how ya doing? I'm Hermione Granger and I come from the future!'"

She shifted on the balls of her feet. "Don't be idiotic, Ronald," she chastised quietly. "I'm not _popping off_ until late tonight. Plenty of time to get everything in order."

Harry eyed her with a disgruntled look as Ron glared at her, unyielding. "You were going to go regardless, weren't you?"

"I -"

"- don't bother, Hermione," he sighed, waving his hand between them. "We both know it. This was all a formality for your Department." He ran a hand through his hair, the ends sticking straight up. "Godric, what am I going to tell Gin?"

Hermione shrugged. "Nothing." She looked at them with tears in her eyes. "You...none of you...will even know who I am in a few hours, I wager."

Ron's mouth twisted into a snarl. "And that's supposed to make us feel _better_ about this, Hermione?" His hands were clenched at his sides, and he looked murderous. "That we're suddenly supposed to just _forget_ our best friend existed?" His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes bright with anger.

Harry, sensing the brewing trouble, stepped between the two of them and enveloped Hermione in a tight hug. "I know where this is going," he grumbled, pulling back to stare into Hermione's eyes. "Regardless of where or _when_ you are, Hermione, don't ever, for a second, think that we will just forget you exist. And regardless of my...feelings...I won't cause a fuss. Just be safe." He kissed her cheek lovingly, drawing back and patting Ron on the shoulder as he passed, whispering something in his ear that had Ron clenching his teeth and cutting his eyes to his best friend, before he stepped from the _muffliato_ bubble Hermione had encased them in.

Ron refused to look at her for a long minute, the silence stretching like a thick blanket. She gripped the fabric of her skirt in one hand, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Ron, I -"

"- how could you?" the red head cut her off, mumbling darkly. "How could you just...abandon us like this?"

"Ronald -"

"- _No._ " he snapped. "You don't get to stand there and tell me everything will be okay, when you're planning on running off on your own to play some...some _hero_ while you leave Harry and I to just...forget who you are."

Tears welled up once again in Hermione's eyes as she watched her best friend's face flit between anger and anguish, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Ron," she whispered, reaching to touch his cheek, but he pulled away just as her fingertips grazed the skin. "Ron, I need you to trust me. To believe in me." She reached out again; this time, he leaned into her gentle caress, his blue eyes sliding closed. "This isn't the end for you...for _us_."

"You don't know that," he whispered in a strained and tired voice. "The next time I'll see you, you'll be old enough to be my mother."

Her other hand came up to grasp his face firmly between her small palms, the paperwork hitting the ground with a small _thud_ as loose leaf parchment slid from the confines of their manila folders. "Ronald, listen to me," she hissed. "This _isn't_ the end for us. If I do this right, you'll meet a regular, black haired boy named Harry who wears glasses and plays quidditch in his spare time, and a bushy haired girl with buck teeth and a penchant for punching snarky Slytherins in the face, and we will be a regular trio of kids who wreak havoc in their spare time and skip classes and...and blow up potions. You'll spend summers with Harry, and Harry will come to the Burrow every Sunday with his parents for brunch, and it will be _good_. No war. No death. No pain." She smiled up at him as he watched her with a pensive smile. "And you'll ask that bushy haired know-it-all to Hogsmeade one day, and she'll give you everything you ever wanted...and it will be _good,_ Ron."

Ron took a deep, steadying breath, exhaling loudly as he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers in an intimate manner. There was a bright flash, but Hermione didn't bother to care; the photo would be as history as this moment in a scant few hours. "I...I know you're going to go, even if I try and talk you out of it," his words were quiet and solemn. "But, Hermione, you have to know...be prepared...you can't - won't - save everyone."

Her eyes screwed up as she thought of the deaths that she would be unable to stop. Would it be James? Lily? Both? She knew it was a possibility, but knew she would do her damnedest to prevent the second war from ever happening. "I know, Ron," she whispered back. "But I have to try, regardless."

He pulled her in tightly, the strength of his arms holding her tightly against his chest as she clutched the cloth of his robes in her small hands. He bent his head into her curls and whispered, "just don't let it be you."

Then, with a press of his lips to her forehead, he pushed away from her and followed in Harry's footsteps. She watched him go with an ache of sadness in her heart; would things have been different if she hadn't been put on this path? She imagined, vividly, the two of them together, years from then, with two red headed children of their own, waving them off as they boarded the Hogwarts Express alongside the children of Harry and Ginny, Neville and Hannah, even Draco Malfoy and Astoria.

Bending, she regathered her papers, whispered _finite_ , and made her way slowly to the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries.

She had a lot to do before she was ready to save the world.

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A/N: _So here we go! Much kudos to my practically-Beta, InsertCleverPotterNameHere, who lets me, as usual, bounce ideas off of her. Of course, the fact that I'm_ supposed _to be writing something wholly different is a totally different story. Oops. Leave a review and let me know what you think!_

 _Much love, Em._


	2. 2

**LEAP**

* * *

Summary: _Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel._

* * *

 **2**

 **2001**

 _When the final delivery she_ had been patiently waiting on from the Department of Magical Births, Deaths, and Marriages came swooping into her IN tray at half-past six o'clock, Hermione was adding the final touches to a letter she had penned to Molly Weasley. In the three hours since her slightly extended lunch break after the meeting with the Wizengamot, she had penned four letters: one to Harry and Ginny, one to Ron, one to Minerva, and, lastly, one to Molly. She signed her name with a quick whip of her quill before setting the final letter aside to dry with the others.

When she pulled the documents she had received from the DMBDM, she felt a wave of relief rush through her. Truly, receiving the approval from the Ministry for her expedition had made things that much easier; she didn't think she'd have been able to obtain these records without proper help.

One document was clearly headed in gold lettering with BRITISH MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and it showed her head shot - charmed to change as she grew - in the left corner of the thick parchment. It stated her name, age, birth-date, and parent's names, as well as her birth status as a muggleborn. The second document, however, was labelled MINISTÈRE DES AFFAIRES MAGIQUES DE LA FRANCE. It bore an identical head-shot in the bottom portion of the parchment, but the details had been modified perfectly.

She had decided from the get-go to discard her given name when she traveled to the past, and instead would be known as Jean Marie.

It had been simple to come up with a backstory for it all: Jean Marie had been her mother's name, and the parents listed - Robert Granger and Marie Anne McCollough - had been her father's parent's names. A simple change she would easily remember in the coming months and years and decades. And, of course, as Jean Marie and Kenneth Robert Granger had no affiliation with the wizarding populace until her birth, it would be no difficult task to remain relatively anonymous.

She tucked the modified French certificate into the ever-present beaded bag at her neck before folding the real one in half and tucking it into the envelope addressed to Molly Weasley. She shuffled the letters into their proper envelopes and stacked them atop one another before stuffing them into her robe pockets.

With a wave of her wand, the stacks of parchment and books perched on her desktop reorganized themselves into their proper places. The torches on the wall dimmed before going out, her door shutting behind her as she stepped into the hallway, the sign reading IN flipping to read OUT. As she passed Presa's office, she stepped in, rapping her knuckles lightly on his door. He looked up from a heavy tome he was reading, his hair falling into his eyes.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm heading out," she murmured. "I'm stopping by Madam Malkin's to pick up the robes I requested last week, and then -"

"-be off then, Miss Granger," he barked at her. "And be careful."

Hermione marched to the elevators, whispering "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement" while clutching her belongings close to her chest. The cart clanged and rattled, jarring as it sped upwards and then came to a sudden, startling halt that nearly knocked Hermione to the floor. The doors jerked open, and she stepped into the crowded office space with all the poise of any Ministry worker.

While the frizzy-haired witch was not an uncommon sight in the DMLE, she noticed that most of the aurors in the room followed her every move with scrutinous, curious, and more than one hostile, eyes. There was the sound of murmuring as she strode to the neat cubicle that read AUROR H. J. POTTER across the top, but was more than slightly disheartened to see that her best friend was not in at the moment.

Red robes swept into the room, and the Head Auror snapped out "wha're ye lot just standin' around gawkin' at, ey? Never seen a pretty bird about, have ye? Get ba' to it, 'less ye wan' me to dock ye pay!" His dark eyes gleamed with cold fire as they settled on Hermione. "Granger, ge' in here. I assume ye tryin' to find Potter boy." His heavy Scottish brogue made it hard for Hermione to completely understand him, but she blinked wide-eyedly and bustled after him.

He shut the door behind her, leaving her to be enveloped in a hug by a mussy haired man with bright green eyes as the blinds in his windowed office dropped to give the two best friends a bit of privacy in what was likely to be their last interaction. "I thought you'd be gone already, to be frank," Harry chuckled as he took his seat.

She shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy. _When had she become uncomfortable around her best friend?_ "Ron out?" she blurted.

The man - no, he was still a boy to her - ran his hand through his hair, his ever-present nervous habit, and looked away from her. "He, uh...went home early today. Stomach ache."

She cast her eyes downward. "So he's with George, then." She settled herself in the chair beside Harry, both of which were before the Head Auror's cluttered desk. He blinked at her, and she smiled softly. "I dated that boy for two years, Harry James Potter. I know as well as you that he and George have learned to lean on one another since..."

"...since Fred," Harry whispered. "Yeah. I know." He plucked a business card from his boss's desk and fiddled with it; anything to keep his hands busy. "So what can I do you for, Mione?"

Silently, she reached into the folds of her robes, pulling out the stack of envelopes and placing them on the desk before him; Harry J. Potter was penned in her neat scroll on the top envelope, and he turned it in his hand inquisitively. "I've taken the liberty...I mean...the time...to write a few letters. Should I fail -"

"Hermione? Fail?" Harry scoffed, eyes twinkling. "That's about as likely as you marrying Ron!"

"Harry!" Hermione laughed, shoving her friend's shoulder. "I almost did, you prat!"

He laughed with her, head rolling back as the tension fled the room in a momentary respite. "You're right. That was probably a bad euphemism."

She choked on her laughter. "Analogy, Harry."

"Same thing."

"Hardly! A euphemism is - you know what, it doesn't matter, you prat." They let the laughter fade to absolutely silence before she lunged forward suddenly, catching him off-guard as she seized him in a bone-crushing embrace. "Oh, Harry. I'm going to miss this. Miss you."

When she pulled back, Harry was blinking back tears. "You know, Mione...you don't have to go. Just stay."

She rose then, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't. Harry...I will always hold you close. And I promise I'll do better for everyone." Her lips skimmed his cheek as her hands cradled his face in her small palms, and then she slipped towards the door. Pausing in the threshold she murmured, "Tell the Weasleys...Harry, if this is the last thing you hear from me, I'm so sorry I failed."

"What?"

She gave a soft, sad smile. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow tell them."

"Hermione, I -" and then she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a click, as he stared after her in utter confusion.

She was waiting at the elevator when she heard the footsteps behind her. Inhaling deeply and preparing to tell Harry off, she was surprised to hear a soft, "Ms Granger?" and turned to see a curly haired brunette Auror about her age clutching something tightly to her chest.

"Yes?"

"Listen, I know you're busy, but I..." the woman pushed a small photo into her hands. "If you don't mind."

Brows furrowing, Hermione looked down at the small photo, taking note of its slightly rumpled edges. A woman with red hair was laughing in the photo, eyes a brilliant shade of green; she looked to be about twenty, and she clutched an infant in her arms. "I..."

The girl shook her head. "I know you have so much going on in your life, but...my sister was killed in a raid on Hogsmeade on October 26th...just before the end of the war. It - it was her birthday." She was blinking back tears rapidly. "If you happen to be in the area...if you could just tell her..."

Hermione touched the girl's hand lightly as the elevator chimed behind them. "I'll do whatever I can. I can't make any promises, of course."

The young Auror smiled a watery smile then before straightening her spine and spinning on her heel with a simple, "good day, Ms Granger."

When the elevator let Hermione off at the entry level, Hermione took a long second for herself to simply take in her surroundings. People ran about, paying no mind to her, and she smiled to herself grimly with the idea that she could be the change of so many lives. It wasn't a smug sense of pride that filled her, but one of self sacrifice; of knowing that she, Hermione Jean Granger, was about to be a catalyst for so much good.

She trailed her fingers across the smooth marble of the fountain edge as she passed, staring up at the huge marble fixture set in its middle. _When was the next time she would see this fountain_ , she wondered idly as she ambled slowly towards the floo networks. Her hands went to her neck where a necklace lay tucked into her blouse. She threw a handful of powder down and suddenly she was standing in Madam Malkin's.

It didn't take long for her to collect her new robes, fashioned much to the seamstress's despair, to much better fit the fashion of the 1980's. She tucked the purchases into her beaded bag and made her way slowly towards the storefront of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

The sight of the slight movement of the apostrophe in _Weasley's_ made her heart clench tightly, but not near so much as when she saw a familiar face staring straight at her through the window pane. She raised a hand to wave, but Ron had turned from her, disappearing into the throngs of people within the store.

Slowly, she ambled towards the back alley with the crooked sign that read Knockturn Alley, and she tucked into a small nook where she wouldn't be seen.

With trembling fingers, she pulled the necklace from her blouse and examined it. The intricate runic symbols curled around the outside square, and she ran the pad of her thumb along its edge, watching as the sand within the circle at the center began to shift and rise, as if sensing the impending magic.

Hermione turned the device's individual shapes - the square and the triangle - in its complicated pattern before taking a deep, steadying breath and spinning the circle with a flick of her thumb.

Around her, a passerby slowed to a stop before beginning to move backwards. More and more rapidly, shaped blurred to nothingness, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of movement. It was like being trapped on a roundabout, the world tilting around her as she stood perfectly still.

Her stomach churned, and when she opened her eyes what must have been an hour later, she was slumped against the ground shivering. The world around her swayed, and she caught sight of a poster right before her eyes reading 1981.

\- and she promptly vomited over a pair of _very_ nice black leather shoes as the world darkened around her.

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A/n: _To be frank, this chapter has been written and rewritten about 3 dozen times. You think I'm exaggerating, but I'm really not. I'm still not happy with it, but it's supposed to be a filler/transition chapter. Nothing crazy exciting. Next chapter should be out much, much sooner (barring anything crazy)._

 _A few things:_

 _1\. The two birth certs: You really can't get_ anything _done without a BC. This is just to make the transition more 'accepted'. No one is going to nitpick a valid birth certificate._

 _2\. The letters and Hermione's comment of "_ I'm sorry I failed _.": Hermione doesn't know if she will fail or not. Her main goal is to save Harry's parents and stop the second war from ever coming to fruition, but she doesn't know if she will be successful. If she isn't, then Harry has her apology; if she is, then Harry won't remember her statement the next day. It's a win-win, really._

 _3\. The brunette Auror: this one stings a bit. Of course word would get out in the dept that Hermione is going to be trying to accomplish the impossible. And many of those Aurors have lost people. This girl lost her sister, and while she doesn't straight up want to demand Hermione save her (she is still an Auror, and Aurors, as all police officers do, know that not everyone can be saved at the end of the day) she still wants her to_ try _. And I don't blame her. But spoiler - that red head will come into play later on._

 _4\. Hermione's going to KA has more to do with convenience than anything else. Knockturn has been there since...forever. And no one will notice some anonymous girl stepping out of it._

 _That's all I have, I think. I will touch on anything if need be later on._

 _Ciao!, Em._


	3. 3

**LEAP**

* * *

Summary: _Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel._

* * *

 **3**

 **1981**

 _The crack of a cane_ against her right temple brought Hermione back from the edge of unconsciousness even while she went sprawling along the ground. Her shoulder bore the brunt of the impact, and the air whooshed from her chest as she lay there, arms coming up to encircle her now-throbbing head, eyes squeezed tight as she brought up her legs to curl into a fetal position. The smell of her sick filled the air, and she heard the sharp _clack_ of the cane striking the ground.

"You filthy street whore!" came a familiar, angry voice. "You've vomited all over my shoes!"

Her eyes widened in a combination of shock and horror as she took in the all-too-familiar white blonde hair, pointed chin, and well tailored robes, her vision beginning to tunnel as adrenaline filled her body.

'Oh, no,' she thought. ' _I've been here all of thirty seconds and I've already managed to piss off a Malfoy!_ '

As he ripped the snake head of his cane from its place and vanished her sick, she began to unfurl from her position on the ground, fumbling a bit as she tried to pull her wand from the holster on her thigh; this was a formidable man, she reminded herself, very much in his prime. The frail, beaten Lucius Malfoy she knew existed in her time was not the man standing before her. He muttered something under his breath, his eyes like ice chips when they fixated on her once again. His jaw clenched, a sneer forming on his thin lips, chin lifting just so.

Just as she was clumsily getting to her feet, Lucius advancing on her with his wand held outwards in an intimidating way, she caught sight of another familiar face leisurely lounging against the wall just behind the blonde haired menace.

"What do we have going on here?" came the silky purr of a very much alive Sirius Orion Black.

Relief flooded Hermione's body as Lucius's back went ramrod stiff, his neck nearly snapping with the speed his head spun to face the black haired, disgraced Black scion.

"Why," Lucius drawled as he tucked his wand back into place. He gave Hermione one last, disparaging look before he turned to face Sirius fully; her body slumped a bit. "if it isn't Mister Black. And where, pray tell, is your...faithful lapdog?"

A wry grin formed on Sirius's lips, not quite friendly, but amused, as he twirled his wand in his nimble fingers and shrugged. "Which lapdog are you referencing, Lucius? I have a few. I remember a certain wife quite... _admiring_...my lap on occasion."

Lucius's face turned red in rage, and he bared his teeth in fury as he lurched towards Sirius. "You filthy, blood traitorous -"

"- ah, ah, Lucius," Sirius sang as his wand dug into the blonde's throat. "Careful. We all know who is the better duelist." His silver eyes twinkled with mirth as he held the slightly older man at bay.

Lucius schooled his face into a blank mask, the same one Hermione had witnessed Draco wear over, and over, and over again throughout their later Hogwarts years and before his sudden death just some months prior. The man dropped his hands to his robe lapels, giving them a quick tug before smoothing his palms over his shirt in a way Hermione had only seen in movies. As she went to shoulder past Sirius, his voice dropped to a low growl. "You'd best watch your smart mouth, Black. You won't always have your sidekicks around to watch it for you."

Sirius opened his arms wide. "I don't see them here, now, Lucius. And yet, you still can't hope to lay a hand on me."

The older man gave a sly smile. "As much as I'd prefer to land that final blow to you and your ego, Black, I think I'll leave that dirty work to someone much more suitable. Such as your cousin."

Sirius's hands dropped back to his side, the smile leaving his face as Lucius turned the corner, the fading c _lack clack clack-ing_ of his cane marking his departure. He turned to face Hermione, then, who was leaned, slumped, against the far wall. Her head was pounding by then, her stomach churning, skin pale. He tucked his wand into his back pocket and approached her slowly, hands out in a placating gesture, like one would a wild animal.

"Sorry about old Lucius, there," Sirius said jokingly as he inched closer. She was gripping her wand loosely, the world beginning to tilt again while Sirius moved slowly towards her. "He can be a bit of an arse."

"I know," she mumbled. "S'okay." She stumbled a step, and Sirius lunged to catch her.

She collapsed face-first into his firm, broad chest, hands falling limply to either side. "Hey, hey, hey. Come on, doll." He bent to sweep her up into a bridal carry, his face concerned as he began striding down the alley in the general direction of Diagon Alley. "Where do you need to go? St Mungo's?"

Her head lolled up a bit, her fingers reaching up to caress his jawline briefly, delicately, as a ghost of a smile drifted across her face. Sirius looked confused and gave her a brief shake, causing her hand to drop back down again. "Come on, doll. Talk to me, or else I'm taking you straight to Mungo's."

"Order."

His strides faltered and he choked out, "what?"

Her whiskey eyes zeroed in on him. "The _Order_ , Sirius Black."

And then her eyes rolled back in her sockets and she was unconscious.

* * *

Voices in the background roused Hermione from her deep slumber.

The first thing she realized was that she was quite comfortable, sans the pounding in her temples that made her stomach churn, despite the emptiness.

Then came the realization that someone was pressing a cold compress to her forehead while humming a tune low in their throat. It was almost soothing, if it hadn't been so unexpected.

A groan escaped her, and delicate fingers touched her temples.

"Oh, oh, dear," came a soothing, motherly voice. "Slowly now. I'm afraid you were quite ill over the last day or so."

Hermione's eyes cracked open, and the familiar face of one Molly Weasely floated into her line of sight and she felt her heart lift to the heavens. "Molly," she breathed.

The red haired woman looked confused, her brow furrowing. "Do I know you, dear?" At Hermione's sad shake of her head, she turned from her patient to address three young red-headed boys playing quietly in the far corner of the room. "William, would you mind fetching your uncle, darling?"

With a jolt, Hermione's eyes zoned in on the unmarred face of little Bill Weasley as he said, "Yes, mum," and left his two younger brothers playing with their stuffed dolls. One, she assumed Charlie, brought his dragon plush down hard on the cluster of cow figurines, roaring softly to an even younger Percy, who quickly set the little figures to rights again with a frown.

Molly smiled at her two children and helped Hermione to sit up gently, her hands warm and friendly. When she was propped up against the headboard, she turned back the handmade quilt - she recognized it as the one that had always lain draped across the back of Arthur's plush chair - and patted her hand soothingly.

"What is your name, dear?"

"Er, Jean," Hermione smiled. "Jean Marie. I'm awfully sorry for putting you out like this -"

"-oh, hush, dear," Molly chastised with a wave of her small hand. "I've dealt with much worse, I assure you." She dropped the cold compress back into the bowl at her side and with a wave of her wand, vanished it. "Now, tell me how you came to be such a wreck. Were you ill?"

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably, her eyes trailing from Molly's. "I...I apologize, Mrs Weasley, but...I'd rather address all of this with the Order." Her fingers twisted at a strand of thread absentmindedly as she looked anywhere but at Molly.

"That's not going to happen."

A sudden, gruff, voice brought Hermione's eyes up to a broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway. His hair was a deep auburn, so dark it was almost brown, and it was the first person Hermione had seen that she did not recognize.

"I beg your -"

"- I said, _that's not going to happen_ ," the man reiterated, interrupting Hermione.

Bill had taken Percy by the hand and he and his two brother's left the room quickly and quietly, the man's eyes following after them before he shut the door with a soft thud.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked.

The man leaned against the door, his green eyes dull with exhaustion as he watched Hermione closely. "Fabian Prewett. Auror." He pushed aside his long black robes and a flash of a silver badge caught her eye.

Molly stood then, placing her fists at her hips. "I swear, Fabian. Stop terrifying the girl. I'll owl Dumbledore; I'm sure he'd love to talk to her."

Fabian scowled at his sister as she strode past him to the door. "Molly," he hissed. "how do we know she isn't a Death Eater or one of V- _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'_ s followers?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Merlin. She doesn't have the Mark - I checked. And Sirius told me in no uncertain terms that she accosted Lucius in the alleyway."

"Vomiting all over his thousand galleon shoes is not quite the same as _accosting,_ Molly," Fabian huffed as he grimaced at his elder sister. He cut his eyes back to Hermione critically. "Besides, what was she doing in Knockturn Alley in the first place?"

The witch in question sat up straighter, eyeing the red haired man with a blank expression while she fisted the quilt in her hands. "I'll explain it all to you when Professor Dumbledore arrives."

Fabian growled and waved a hand. "Dumbledore isn't going to just drop everything to come here. He has a school year to prepare for. Busy man, he is. So just go ahead and start talking witch."

"Fabian..." Molly whispered in warning.

 _"No,_ Molly," he snapped. "Dumbledore doesn't need to come running at every new development. We need to be able to handle ourselves accordingly." With a sigh, he said, "it's getting worse out there, Molls. We need to be careful. I wasn't even comfortable with Sirius bringing her here, with you being so pregnant...and the kids...Bill is only eleven, and Ron only one."

Huffing, Hermione muttered, "He _will_ come. I have critical information for him regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The red head rolled his eyes at her, crossing his arms across his fit chest. "Oh, do tell, Miss Jean Marie. What k _ey inf_ ormation could you possibly be harboring that we don't already know?"

With a deep breath, Hermione announced. "Tell him I know about the Horcruxes; and I know where they are."

* * *

A/n: _And there we have it! Hermione has been there all of like...30 minutes and managed to make enemies with not only Lucius, but it seems that Fabian doesn't hold her in very high regard. I'm trying to_ not _do what I've seen a lot of writers do with Fabian and Gideon: make them carbon copies of Fred and George. Fabian is kind of an ass, but I'm sure he'll grow on you all._

 _I hope you enjoy! Please drop a review, if you liked it!_


	4. 4

**LEAP**

* * *

Summary: _Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel._

* * *

 **4**

 **August - 1981**

 _Hermione sat with her feet_ tucked beneath her bum with the quilt from the bed thrown over her long legs while she nursed her third cup of tea in as many hours. All around her milled unfamiliar faces, many of whom stared openly at her in plain suspicion and mistrust. Fabian stood nearest the kitchen, leaned back against the wood frame of the archway, placing himself protectively between Hermione and Molly, who hobbled from room to room puttering about to clean the house as more and more people filed in from outside. The chestnut haired man had confiscated the curly haired witch's wand and had it tucked into a holster at his thigh, to which Hermione was grateful when the door opened again for the (seemingly) 100th time and a familiar face entered, flanked by four others.

Peter Pettigrew - pudgy, red-faced Peter - though younger and slightly less rat-like, was still recognizable to Hermione as if she'd seen him just the day before, and the man made her fingers itch for her wand as the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Given the chance, she did not know if she'd have killed him in that instant or not; she didn't put it past herself, if she was truthful. Her suddenly trembling fingers tightend around her mug, and she took a deep drink of the cooling tea to calm herself, her chocolate orbs leaving Peter's face to take in the sight of his companions.

A man that could not be mistaken as any other than James Potter stood beaming beside a red haired woman holding a small, squirming bundle in her arms, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Lily and James, a duo that she had only ever seen in old photographs on Harry's mantle, were glowing as they greeted their friends, Lily waving Harry's pudgy arm in hello.

"I thought you were supposed to be in hiding?" laughed Fabian as he embraced the witch jovially, giving her a quick once-over as he took a step back.

James tapped him on the shoulder with his knuckles in a playful gesture. "Dumbledore wants all hands, apparently. I guess your little house guest has some information he finds important, even to us." He shrugged his shoulders in nonchalance, and Hermione wondered just how differently Harry would have ended up if she had been given a chance to grow up alongside his father who seemed to be her best friend's polar opposite. She sent a silent prayer up that she would find out.

Behind them, she recognized Sirius leaning heavily against the door while another man, who could only be Remus, spoke to him in low, hushed tones. He shoved his limp black hair out of his face, and Hermione's lips turned down in a frown when she noticed the deep bags under his eyes and the gauntness of his cheeks.

As she moved to rise from her chair to perhaps approach the mysteriously grave-looking Sirius, the door opened once more and Dumbledore strode in, commanding all eyes as he crossed the threshold. Hermione's breath caught in her suddenly aching chest as she drank in the sight of her former headmaster, head spinning a bit as she took in the presence of so many people she had never known and had lost.

He stroked his white beard thoughfully as he surveyed the room over the tops of his half moon spectacles. "It seems as though I'm the last to arrive," he mused. "Excellent. That means we can get right to it."He turned his focus to Hermione and beckoned to her. "I don't recognize you, which means you must be Jean. And I feel as though you have quite the story to tell." His blue eyes bored into her, twinkling in that mysterious way of his, and she averted her gaze uncomfortably.

Attention turned to the curly haired witch and she set her tepid tea aside as she went to rise once more, pushing the blanket off of her knees as she went. All eyes focused on her with a mix of awe, interest, and distrust, and she tried not to allow the shaking of her hands to show as she went to address them all. She ignored the mistrustful glower from Fabian altogether by turning her back to him.

Without further ado, and feeling as though she should simply rip the proverbial bandaid off, she decided to jump right in, her nerves making her hands shake a tad. "Firstly, my name is not actually Jean; it is Hermione."

Fabian grimaced at her back, his fingers tightening over the hilt of his wand as he studied her. "And apparently a liar. What else have you got hidden up your sleeve?" The witch didn't miss the double enteundre, and she glared at the man.

"I have a lot hidden up my sleeve, if I'm honest," she scowled. "But I'm not the only one here with an agenda."

Dumbledore lowered himself to the Weasley's couch across from her, steepling his fingers as he addressed her with a curious glint to his gaze. "Miss Hermione, I must ask that you speak frankly. There are many of us here with things that we must do and accomplish."

She shifted on her feet restlessly. "First, I must ask that you allow me my wand."

The outrage was immediate, and expected, and caused Hermione's eyes to practically roll into the back of her head. "So you can turn it on us? I don't think so," scoffed Fabian, and she got the distinct impression he disliked her for reasons beyond the typical.

She turned to him, then, eyes snaring him where he stood and she thrust out her arms to gesture at the dozen or so witches and wizards in the room. "I'm surrounded by accomplished witches and wizards; I'm sure you can handle me if I step out of line." She rolled her eyes at him, holding out her hand for the wand in his grasp.

Dumbledore regarded her, then motioned for Fabian to hand over the length of wood. She took it eagerly from the man, feeling the energy pulse through her arm as she grasped it. Pausing just briefly, she rolled up her left sleeve, causing those in the room to stiffen and grasp their own wands.

"As I said: my name is not Jean, but Hermione," the tip of her wand traced her skin from wrist joint to elbow crease and the word MUDBLOOD, which Bellatrix had carved into her skin so many years prior, seemed to fade into her skin. A slight murmuring rose up around her, and she made direct eye contact with Fabian across from her, who wore an inscrutiable look on his face. "Hermione _Jean_ Granger. Some years ago, I was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor, while helping my friends to search out and destroy artifacts that would prevent He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named from truly dying."

Her old headmaster nodded his head grimly. "I had my suspicions, but I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he had not dabbled in that magic."

"Unfortunately for us, he has, and that isn't all. But before I get more into my story, I must tell you," Her eyes flashed up to pin Peter Pettigrew to the place he stood, shocked. "You have a traitor amongst you."

"Blasphemy!" shouted a rotund man from the back.

"Hush, Elphias," came the immediate snap of a black haired woman with an exotic look about her.

Peter was easing slowly towards the door, and Hermione's arm shot out as she shouted, " _Incarcerous_!" Ropes seized the man and he collapsed to the floor, wriggling in an attempt to free himself, as Hermione felt her wand fly from her hand in the same instant. She turned her scowl to Fabian, who clutched her wand in a firm grip, his wand pointed at her chest.

Remus and Sirius were crouched protectively over their friend, trying to tug the bonds off his immobilized body. "Leave him!" Hermione snapped, not taking her eyes off the point of Fabian's wand. "Check his left arm and _pray_ I'm wrong."

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" Sirius snapped as he gripped his own wand. "Peter has been with us since he was eleven years old!" Remus was tugging at his arm in an attempt to prevent him from raising his wand at the witch.

" _Check his left arm_." Hermione snapped again, her eyes wild, as she raised her hands in a non-threatening gesture.

"We'll do no such thing!" Sirius bellowed, wrenching away from Remus to stride towards her. "How dare you turn your wand on Peter! He is good, and kind, and -"

"- _Sirius_." In the confusion, James had crouched down beside Remus and done as Hermione had bid. His face was pale as he gripped Peter's left wrist in a vice-like grip, the damning black mark on his friend's skin bared to the group of gathered Order members. "Sirius, she was right."

Lily was shell-shocked, standing in the protective embrace of Molly some feet away from the bound and gagged man she had once called 'friend'. A burly man with green eyes and a head full of mussed red-brown hair seized the ropes around Peter's chest and hauled him to his feet, thrusting him towards Fabian, who caught him by the arm roughly.

Hermione pinned the traitor with a look that could kill before addressing the room. "Keep a good eye on him," she warned. "He's an unregistered animagus, and he isn't above cutting off a finger or two to get away." She didn't miss the way Sirius and James fidgetted a bit from where they stood beside Remus.

Dumbledore was standing, she then realized, and his blue eyes froze her in place. "It seems you have quite a bit to explain, Miss Hermione."

She raked her hand through her hair, partly in agitation, partly to soothe her nerves. "Of course professor."

Without further ado, she launched into the retelling of her story, feeling the mistrustful eyes of the original Order of the Phoenix boring into her from all sides.

"I know this will sound...asinine," she warned, "but I need you to hear me out. Entirely.

"My name is Hermione Jean Granger - please, call me Jean - and I was born on the nineteenth of September, 1979." Inhales of shock and disbelief greeted her words, but no one sought to stop her, even as a few muttered amongst themselves, so she continued on relentlessly.

"I work for the Department of Mysteries under one Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, and I was granted the permission of coming to this time to stop He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named from committing a grievous error that will result in a second war, as well as to destroy several artifacts that have granted him near-immortality." She inhaled deeply. "In order to do that, I aim to also save the lives of James and Lily Potter."

"I-I don't understand," Lily trembled, clutching baby Harry to her chest. James pulled her into the security of his broad arms, his eyebrows wrinkling in concern.

Hermione smiled sadly, wringing her hands before her in an almost nervous gesture. "Growing up, my best friends were Ronald Weasley and one Harry James Potter," she murmured softly. "Harry was orphaned when the Dark Lord received word of a prophecy depicting him as the one that would save the wizarding world; his parent's gave their lives to save him, which resulted in the Dark Lord to be...temporarily vanquished when his avada rebounded off of Harry." She shook her head sadly. "Unfortunately, he returned in our first year at Hogwarts, and gained strength in every year that followed. Harry...nearly died to end the Second Wizarding War, and it came at a steep price. For all of us."

"And these artifacts," Dumbledore queried. "what are they?"

Hermione turned to him solemnly. "Horcruxes. Right now, there's only five, but in my time...there were seven."

The aged man looked almost dumbfounded. "Seven," he whispered. "Are you certain?"

She nodded gravely. "Yes. And one of them costs you your life. I'm hoping to prevent that, as well. In fact, I'm hoping to stop as much death as I possibly can, if I'm honest. I know I will likely fail, but...I can at least try."

The exotic woman from before spoke up softly. "Do...I mean to say...how many of us are still...around...in your time?"

Hermione fumbled a bit with the hem of her shirt. "In my present time...not many. Most of you were killed before the end of the first war, but some of you...some of you don't make it out of the second. Many of you I've only seen in photographs." She could see the comprehension of what Hermione's lack of recognition meant cross Fabian's features just briefly before his stony mask fell back into place.

Sirius' face was turned down into a snarl, his fists shaking. "So you're telling me you came all this way to help save us, but you couldn't even save Marlene?"

Hermione reeled back in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Marlene McKinnon!" shouted the wild-haired man. "She was killed just a day ago while you lounged around the Burrow with your feet kicked up!"

"I-I didn't-"

"-you didn't _know_?" Sirius snarled. "How are you supposed to help us if you don't even _know_ when we're all supposed to kick the bucket?" Spinning on his heel, he stormed from the room, leaving Hermione feeling a tad empty as she watched Remus follow quietly after the raging man.

She looked down at her suddenly shaking hands. "Many of you don't have death dates. I just know some of the details."

"Miss Hermione," Dumbledore said, "Mister Black is feeling extreme guilt over the death of his girlfriend. Do not take what he says to heart, at the moment. He is grieving, and we all say and do things that are not becoming of our true selves when we are mourning the loss of a loved one." She felt herself start at that.

 _Girlfriend_? She wondered. _I wasn't aware Sirius had had a girlfriend!_

Tears pricked her eyes, and Dumbledore patted her back soothingly. "My dear, how about we take this to a more private location? Upstairs, perhaps?" She nodded, and the old man gestured for Fabian, James, and another man with red brown hair to follow after them as he led her up the stairs to the small sickroom she had occupied for several days.

Taking the seat across from the small bed while Fabian warded the room with silent spells - from what, she wasn't certain - the broad man and James took up standing at either side of his like two well-trained dobermans. She sat at the edge of the - _her_ \- bed and wrung her hands together nervously.

"Well, then, Miss Hermione," Dumbledore said softly. "Tell us what you know of these horcruxes and how we may find and destroy them."

* * *

A/n: I apologize profusely for the tardiness of this chapter. I wish I could say it won't happen again. Life kind of stuck me a fat one - break up, 2 moves, lost my job, got a new one... - but I think I'm back on my feet again. On top of that, this chapter absolutely refused to be written, so I had to drag it out kicking and screaming. I tried to make this as realistic as possible. No one is going to take someone claiming time travel at face value, but they _are_ wizards, which makes it slightly more plausible. Plus, Dumbledouche - I mean, Dumbledore.

1) Just like cops take away a suspect's weapons, it is to be expected that Fabian would have taken Hermione's, err, _Jean's_. But she was surrounded by a dozen + other magical being, so giving it back wasn't that much of a risk unless she suicide bombed them all.

2) Yep. Peter is out of the way. I have always hated him. But it will lend to the plot a bit more later on.

3) Yes. You've seen Gideon. He just isn't named. He's a quiet one, he is. Unlike his douche canoe twin who just can't seem to pry his eyes off of Hermione. Do I smell a possible love triangle? (Probably not because I suck at writing cliche's).

4) Marlene. I had to do it, and I'm sorry. It is going to lend a bit to Sirius' madness, but there's a reason for her going so early on. I need to make room for character growth, which Hermione is going to witness firsthand, thanks to his non-imprisonment at Azkaban. I'm so excited, to be honest.

Much love, Em.


End file.
